I've written a lot about sex over the course of my "blogging career." Hell, I still write about sex on a regular basis and get paid for it, something that still is working circles in my brain.

I'm glancing at my cell phone bill the other day, attempting to calculate how I managed to rack up as many roll over minutes that I have, especially considering that my coworker who loves to point out

There's an undercurrent flowing steadily inside of me. It started a couple of days back and seems hell bent on driving me insane until it is appeased.

I have very detailed dreams. Vivid, intense dreams that sometimes parallel what's going on in my everyday life and sometimes come out of the fucking blue.

The last guy that I had sex with was named after one of the Chipmunks.

I was thinking about something today. I really like dick. I like the shape of it, the smell of it, the juice that it produces.

I was over at my friend Stacy's house this past weekend for UFC 66, otherwise known as the night that Liddell beat the crap out of my Tito and cost me a picture of my ass (shut up, you fucking hillbilly!) and something interesting occurred to me. As the room (divided about 60/40 men to women ratio) started to debate whether or not Jenna Jameson was going to be ringside, I found it amusing that not a single woman seemed offended at the idea of a porn star getting such massive attention. In fact, I think I've yet to meet a woman who doesn't like Jenna.